


one missed call

by gortysproject



Category: Wolf 359 (Radio)
Genre: M/M, Tumblr Prompt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-02
Updated: 2017-03-02
Packaged: 2018-09-27 23:31:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 676
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10056968
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gortysproject/pseuds/gortysproject
Summary: from a tumblr prompt: kepcobi + "one missed call"





	

**Author's Note:**

> i'm literally just uploading this because i didn't want to lose it in the depths of my blog

Kepler awakens to a quiet buzzing from the bedside table.

It’s the dead of night; his alarm clock blinks a sleepy 3:18AM at him when the palm of his hand presses down on it, but the pale blue haze of the digital numbers is incomparable to the bright moonlight seeping in through the window. They didn’t draw the blinds, so the bed they lie in is now bathed in the dim light, everything from their pillows to the rumpled sheets at the bottom of the mattress being illuminated for the Colonel to see now. From the blinds, his gaze strays to the balcony door, noticing that Jacobi left it unlocked. Not that a lock would stop anybody who  _did_  want to come for them in their sleep.

Jacobi himself is undisturbed when Kepler sits up, wiping a hand over his face before leaning over to pick up the phone. It’s a burner cell – he’s due to collect another when they arrive back at Canaveral later in the day. The text message shines bright –  _too_  bright – on his screen in the darkened room.

[UNKNOWN NUMBER – 3:17AM] Car outside. You’re needed at Canaveral.

He squints at the screen.

[YOU – 3:18AM] What is this for?

[UNKNOWN NUMBER – 3:18AM] Contingency #1773 protocols are in effect. Cutter wants you there.

[UNKNOWN NUMBER – 3:19AM] Come alone.

Kepler takes the time to glance back at Jacobi’s sleeping form, largely silhouetted, and only allows a small sigh before he quickly and quietly moves off of the bed. He collects his clothes and take the gun from underneath his pillow efficiently, wasting no time. The bag is slung over his shoulder, one of two hotel cards swiped from the surface of the desk, and Kepler pauses only to lock the balcony door before he leaves. Jacobi looks far smaller in the king-sized bed alone.

 

* * *

 

When Jacobi wakes, the warmth at his back is gone. He still feels the weight of the arm wrapped around his waist, the breath on the back of his neck, the place where his calf was trapped under another leg, but in reality, it’s only a phantom of the touch from the night before. He rolls over to find an empty bed, the sheets cold, the sunlight streaming through the open blinds and the clock blinking 9:47AM at him. Listening out for the sounds of movement in the bathroom, he hears nothing.

Disappointment lands heavily on his chest. He sits up to look around for a note, or a sign of some sort. Nothing. Part of Jacobi feels ridiculous to be as frustrated as a stood-up date, but another part of him really thought Kepler would stay.

“Whatever,” he mutters to himself, voice thick with sleep. A hand pushes his messy hair out of his eyes. He checks his phone on the off-chance there’s a message left on there.

He finds nothing. The cell is carelessly tossed in the direction of the trashcan in the corner of the room, and by some miracle, it hits the wall and bounces in expertly. He’s due to get a new phone today, anyway.

Fighting the embarrassment that threatens to heat his cheeks, Jacobi slides out of bed, grabbing his clothes from the various corners of the room they were flung to last night. There had been other important things on his mind, and very persuasive lips pressed against his throat, that stopped him from caring much about where his shirt landed. His bruised collarbone bears the evidence of his distraction.

When he steps into the bathroom, he sees it in the mirror, eyes lingering for only a second before he turns to the shower and yanks the lever with a vengeance. The clothes are dumped on the cupboard. He steps inside the shower. When the too-hot water hits his skin, he hisses, but makes no move to adjust the temperature. He tilts his head back into the spray.

From the trashcan, his phone rings. [INCOMING CALL – KEPLER]. The heavy beat of the shower water masks the noise completely.

**Author's Note:**

> find me @aihera on tumblr!


End file.
